


The Art of Balance

by Balrog_Roike



Series: Lord Shiva [2]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, He Did Not Sign Up For This, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd has no luck with mothers, Jason Todd is Lady Shiva's son, Past Character Death, Swearing, Too Much Talking, Unreliable Narrator, and apparently a cult, emotional whiplash, it might just work out though, or parents in general, smiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 05:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balrog_Roike/pseuds/Balrog_Roike
Summary: Jason regrets but he wouldn't change anything. Not if it means that Cass is still alive.And yet, this time around the consequences of his actions may just break him - if it weren't for some help from unexpected friends.





	The Art of Balance

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's not much happening here.  
> But after thoroughly breaking Jason, even if Tim and the rest of the Batfamily aren't exactly aware of that, I need to put him together again before we return to any kind of action.
> 
> Cass', Lady Shiva's and Jason's special ability gets leveled up a bit from mere "predicting the opponent's next move thanks to reading body language" to actually "reading somebody's intentions and emotions" but that's actually fanon by now.
> 
> Beware the cameos, maybe-cameos and stealthy borrowing from the comics. Nobody was there to stop me.
> 
> Background music:  
> “This Night” – Black Lab  
> “Shattered” – Trading Yesterday
> 
> Still trying to figure out how I want to write and format my dialogue. Please tell me if it gets confusing.  
> Still no beta.

Gotham City was never a beautiful place to take a midnight stroll in but in the middle of autumn while freezing sheets of rain fell from the sky certainly was one of the worst times to do so.

Jason was drenched down to his bones and even his trusty leather jacket was completely soaked through at this point. A part of him doubted that he would ever feel dry and warm again, while the rest of him simply couldn’t find enough energy to care. The last few months hadn’t been particularly kind to him and he was just about at the end of his rope.

Gotham had become a veritable minefield between the Bats on the hunt, assassins trying to ambush him and shady master martial artists flocking to the city to challenge him. Every step seemed to be the wrong one and to set off another one of many unexpected consequences of him killing Lady Shiva what felt like a lifetime ago.

Somewhere snug and warm in his ancestral manor Bruce was probably congratulating himself on having called it and lecturing all his good little Robins yet again on all the reasons why they shouldn’t be killing. Just look at all the problems it currently caused Jason. Really, he should have known better…

Not that Jason actually regretted what he had done. Not really. Not one bit.

Shiva had wanted to die after all and he had to save his sister because Shiva wouldn’t have stopped, she never would have and –

Jason felt his breath hitch and hurried to think about something different.

A shadow flitted over the rooftops to the left of him and he pressed himself into the nearest dark alley. Without his helmet and guns he felt distinctly vulnerable but that just couldn’t be helped. He’d needed an explosion to get out of a tight spot some days ago and had run out of ammunition long before that and with his safe houses probably all compromised by now, he was shit out of luck until he could grab something new from some unsuspecting schmuck crossing his way.

Because apparently neither the Bats nor the League nor master martial artists seemed to believe in guns and bullets and while he probably _could_ have stocked up by stealing the gear of his latest opponent he’d been strangely reluctant to do so. He’d done enough to that man…

Another shadow had Jason ducking further into the alley and he flinched violently when he suddenly felt ice-cold stone biting into his skin. Even his armor and beloved jacket were almost in tatters around him and he didn’t even want to think about how he smelt by now. Being constantly on the run was hell on personal hygiene.

At least things seemed to finally die down, given that the number of shady master martial artists on the world was actually limited and that even Ra’s couldn’t throw numbers at Jason forever without his people starting to rebel about so many of them being sent home broken. Apparently even assassins sworn to eternal loyalty got testy after months of not succeeding and began to question their leader’s sanity. Especially if their opponent was the newest incarnation of Shiva.

At least that was what the last group of League henchmen he’d overheard had implied. Tough luck for Ra’s, in his opinion. Hopefully the guy would have another civil war inside the League on his hand sometime soon.

If only he hadn’t vanished so fast after Jason had threatened to kill him. And if only Jason had been in better condition to chase after him. But with so many of his bones broken and the Bats suddenly free to move around, Jason had been hard-pressed to escape himself and hadn’t had time to take care of him.

If only…

Jason shook his head to bring himself back into the present and winced when wet hair flopped into his eyes. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d lost his mask but then again it wasn’t as if it mattered at this point. Everybody who was still on his trail right now already knew who he was anyway, given that the only faction remaining of those out for his head were the Bats.

And B would never give up on finding him, because nobody could hold quite a grudge like the Batman. And that didn’t even take Cass into account…

Jason closed his eyes and let his head bump against the wall behind him and relished at the slight pain the motion caused. Then he let himself slip down the wall to the muddy floor, feeling the puddles soak his pants even more and the sharp edges of garbage bite into his skin.

God, his life was a fucking shitshow.

He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there in the mud and dirt, his exhausted mind deciding to use the short break to go into some kind of haze, but Jason was abruptly startled fully awake when the rain that had been steadily falling from the sky for the whole time suddenly simply seemed to stop. His body tensed and he blinked his eyes open, his lids far heavier than he remembered them ever being, but instead of finding himself caught in the dark, all-encompassing shadow of one of the Bats as he’d been dreading, he found himself face to face with an almost cheery looking red umbrella instead.

For a moment he stared dumbly up at it.

He hadn’t even known that umbrellas in any color but black existed in Gotham.

Okay, calling it ‘cheery’ might have been a bit of an exaggeration, given that the color was actually closer to freshly spilt blood than anything friendly like roses or tulips – but it was a splash of color where there shouldn’t have been one and it seriously threatened to derail Jason’s already precarious thought processes. He just couldn’t deal with yet another surprise, be it a positive or negative one, on top of everything else.

And yet life just couldn’t give him a break.

Because the owner of the umbrella bowed low, very low in fact, all while expertly keeping the umbrella safe above Jason’s head and any excess water from running down his neck, and smiled far too serenely down at him.

“Lord Shiva.”

Yeah, he was fucked, no doubts about it.

+++

Jason should know better than to follow a stranger, he was Gotham born and bred after all – or at least that was what he preferred to think, given that he had no idea where Lady Shiva had actually birthed him and Cass –, but he was also still the little boy who’d thought that it was a good idea to steal the Batman’s tires, so he’d probably always been slightly suicidal.

Anyway, here he was, standing in front of an only slightly ramshackle building in one of the worse parts of Gotham, bloody red umbrella still cheerfully bobbing above him, keeping his head dry-ish, and a little old woman holding onto his right arm.

Because _of course_ his newest acquaintance was a little old woman, because there _always_ was a little old woman somehow. It was like a law of the universe as far as Jason knew. If there’s a mess, a little old woman surely will follow. To offer advice, to set your head straight, to impart wisdom upon the foolish and undeserving, to kick you back in shape or to just kick you if you really deserved it…

God, Jason could really _do_ with this sort of little old woman right now.

Still, that wasn’t a good reason to actually trust her right away, because Jason really should have learnt by now that he never gets what he actually wishes for, but if there’s one thing these last few months were actually good for, then it was to break him of his deep-seated reluctance to actually _look_ at the people he encountered and react accordingly.

He would have never survived otherwise.

So when she’d bowed before him and greeted him with a smile, he’d actually done whatever shifted his – Mindset? Skillset? Mental state? – around and _looked_ right past her friendly demeanor and at all those little things and ticks that had suddenly shifted into focus and neatly fit together like puzzle pieces to tell him everything she might have actually wanted to hide.

And found nothing.

There was genuine happiness in her gaze, happiness that she had found him, wonder and awe in the quick pulse showing at her throat, as if she was meeting an actual celebrity and just barely managing to stay calm. Sadness in the soft sigh of a breath even she probably hadn’t noticed, dismay at his state in the way she tensed her jaw just the slightest bit, worry in the lines around her eyes and resolution in the set of her lips, but no falsehood when she offered him something to eat and invited him stay until he was warm and dry again.

Jason probably should have said no anyway – but as much as he hated his ability, he knew that he could trust in it. That it would have saved his life, had he used it before…

And so here he was, using one sleeve to wipe the raindrops of the handle of a fishy looking, graffiti-covered door, before then having to use far too much strength to actually heave it open. On further inspection the metal of the door was probably several inches thick and only moveable at all because it rested on well-oiled hinges. And the walls of the “ramshackle” building looked suspiciously reinforced as well.

Jason was pretty sure he’d had nightmares that started this way.

His hostess didn’t share his sudden reluctance to enter, but stepped into the dark entryway with a far too energetic step. She toed her shoes off, hung up her coat, shook the worst of the raindrops of the umbrella and then hustled further inside without waiting to see if he would follow. A soft click sounded and then a warm glow appeared at the end of what seemed to be a small hallway leading further into the building.

“There’s a bathroom with a hot shower two doors down to the right from you,” she called from several rooms away. “Give me a few minutes and I should have some dry clothes that should fit you. Just leave your own stuff on the floor. I’ll take care of it later.”

Jason’s first reaction was to snort – because: Yeah, no. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. – but on second thought he was wet and uncomfortable and _freezing_ and just too bone-tired to really care. A hot shower sounded heavenly right now, consequences be damned.

And if he hadn’t been so well acquainted with his own particular brand of karma he would have been almost tempted to declare that it couldn’t get worse anyway…

Jason flinched at the thought, cursed softly under his breath and knocked on the next wooden surface. Then he braved the now dimly lit hallway to search for the promised shower, hoping against hope for a much needed break.

+++

Jason knew he should be weirded out by the fact that the clothes he was wearing now not only fit him perfectly but also were in his preferred colors and style, but after spending so much time in Alfred’s and then later on Talia’s care, he was probably conditioned to expect his caretakers to know his measurements and tastes better than he did, no matter if they had never met him before.

Also, a bit snooping around revealed the building to actually be a temple dedicated to Lady Shiva – Funny, he’d heard she had destroyed the only known temple in Gotham herself a few years ago. – and her followers were known to be very dedicated stalkers documenting anything connected to her. Long lost kids and surprise successors probably counted.

“I thought the temple here in Gotham had been destroyed,” he wondered aloud while eyeing one of the scrolls decorating the deep burgundy tapestry. (If it was actual tapestry. He had a feeling that should he try touch it, he would feel expensive cloth instead.)

His hostess was bustling about somewhere behind him right now, setting up a low table in the middle of the spacious room that had to be the main chamber of the temple. The inner sanctum, so to speak, if inner sanctums could be richly and elegantly decorated and yet utterly efficient and practical at the same time somehow.

The large room had been utterly devoid of furniture before the old woman had brought the table inside, save for a small nook in what Jason thought was the northern wall. The floor was covered in neat rows of tatami mats that showed definite signs of use here and there, in distinctive patterns that Jason recognized from his time training in martial arts overseas.

The walls though – above a certain height at least – were covered in finery: Various kinds of decorative yet _sharp_ and clearly functional weapons, beautifully drawings and landscapes mostly of the Asian variety and traditional scrolls depicting calligraphy were hanging everywhere.

“There are many temples dedicated to Shiva. Even more than your mother ever knew. “Jason could hear the smile in her voice even over the soft clinking of ceramic.

He hummed noncommittally and shifted his gaze to another scroll. Then he blinked when instead of the expected Chinese or Japanese characters he was confronted with Arabic script instead. A quick check around the room showed calligraphy from all over the globe and not all of it were of the usual topics for art like this. Some of them had rather dark contents actually…

Shaking his head he wandered over to the alcove in the northern part of the room and found himself face to face with a golden representation of Shiva.

At least he thought that it was meant to be Shiva. He had seen statues of the deity before in India, but this depiction was… _off_ somehow. It wasn’t quite the right style and the god himself looked decidedly androgynous. The usual symbols defining him were either missing or not quite right either. In fact, some of them looked as if “borrowed” from other cultures altogether.

In fact the whole _statue_ looked as if somebody has mashed several ancient cultures together and made it fit somehow. And yet – Jason was no expert but you just learnt some things when your cases involved Catwoman enough times – the statue showed signs of being old, very old, even _ancient_ –

Jason hastily interrupted his own train of thought because no, he would _not_ go there. He just _knew_ that this way lay madness.

He turned around and saw that his hostess had finished her preparations by now. In the soft glow of the candles on the low table in front of her and with a gentle smile on her face, she suddenly didn’t look as old as before anymore.

For a moment Jason couldn’t control his paranoia and checked her over again. But she was still a simple woman meaning well and wanting to take care of him. Somebody whose only fault was probably the amount of awe she felt simply by being in his presence.

Jason grimaced and _looked away_ again. Then he actually paid attention to the table in front of him: While a stack of plates and cutlery to the side suggested the possibility of a proper meal at some later time, everything else was set up for some kind of tea ceremony. Which was not so great, because the last time Jason had taken part in something like this had been ages ago, when he’d still been under Talia’s tutelage, and he hadn’t been particular good at it either.

Heck, he wasn’t even sure if he could manage a proper seiza or kneel for a longer amount of time in his exhausted state. In the end he settled for sitting down cross-legged instead and hoped that his benefactor wouldn’t be insulted by it. Fortunately a quick peek at her face only showed her smiling encouragingly up at him.

A few minutes later it became clear to Jason that he was in over his head. Watching the woman’s movement was soothing, sure, even if he had serious problems staying awake right now and only managed it thanks to the promise of a meal somewhere in his near future, but he simply couldn’t remember anymore what was going on and what he was supposed to do in turn.

Naturally his hostess noticed his struggles but instead of pursing her lips in disapproval as he’d seen people do so often before when confronted with his “uncouth behavior”, she simply smiled calmly down at the table and gently nudged the tea bowl in front of him closer, so that he got a better look at the faint discolorations on its surface.

“You know, it has always confounded me that for all the strict structures and rules of a proper tea ceremony, even today the most valued and cherished attributes of the tea bowls in use are their imperfections.”

She showed him her own bowl and the faint nicks and scratches in its surface.

“How strange that we chose to celebrate individuality in a simple object and yet shun it in the people surrounding us.

 “And how sad that the true meaning of the tea ceremony, to embrace and forgive our own and other’s faults and imperfections, got lost and forgotten somewhere along the way.”

The woman looked up and right into Jason’s eyes, gifting that serene smile to him.

“Don’t you agree?”

Jason couldn’t help but feel himself relax and smile back, deliberately slouching into a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, completely.”

The answering smile was nearly blinding.

“I’m glad, my lord. Please know that I have high hopes for you.”

And there went Jason’s good mood again. He grimaced slightly and took a sip from his tea to hide it.

“Because I’m imperfect?”

The smile, impossibly enough, only became brighter.

“Because you have learnt to accept it. As your mother, your sister and so many others have failed to do before.”

A faint flush of warmth warred with a heavy, cold lump of something that Jason refused to call guilt deep inside his chest. Clearing his throat, he set his cup back down and looked away, his eyes finding the alcove with the statue again.

“You know I killed her… Right?”

Smiles and more smiles, it seemed that nothing could phase her.

“You’re Lord Shiva now. Naturally I know everything about you.”

Jason just nodded once, a bit numbly. The golden icon seemed to blur in his vision for just a moment, then he blinked and he could see clearly again.

He must have been quiet for too long because the woman continued, “I was a great victory. She was very proud of you.”

Jason couldn’t help but grimace and blink rapidly again. A parent being proud of him – there was a first time for everything apparently.

Okay, that wasn’t quite fair. Mo- Cat- _Mom_ had been proud of him often, at least whenever she remembered that he existed and had felt up to dealing with reality, but...

“I _killed_ her!” he repeated more harshly than intended and the gold began to blur again, no matter how hard he fought to keep the tears at bay. In the end he gave up and lifted his hands to wipe the treacherous moisture away. It didn’t help at all and only made the next tears well up even faster than before.

“It’s funny, you know? First I saw one mother die and then the next tried to kill me and now I killed one myself…  And don’t even get me started on fathers, because I crippled my biological one just a few hours ago.”

He laughed mirthlessly, thickly, because his throat seemed to be closing up slowly and his nose felt stuffy and the knot in his chest only got tighter with every breath he took anyway.

“He came at me for taking his daughter’s birthright away. Never mind that she didn’t want it. Never mind that _I’m_ his kid, too… He just attacked me, just like every other father I ever had did before, and I… I…”

His breath hitched and he rubbed more furiously at his eyes, only succeeding at making himself see stars and bright bursts of color, the tears continuing to flow anyway.

“Looks like I’m just hell on parental figures, I guess. No matter who or where or how, I just fuck things up and everybody ends up suffering somehow.”

He heard his hostess hum softly and then felt a soft cloth touching his fingers. He took it gingerly, half of him grateful for saving his sleeves from serving as tissues, the other half ashamed that he had to use it in the first place.

“And your family? Do they think the same way?”

Jason snorted wetly, “Hell if I know.” Then he corrected, “Probably. They hate killing and they hate what I do and they are all so hung up on the idea of ‘perfect biological parents’, no matter what they say…”

He was over Bruce and Dick and the Bats’ collective shit, or at least he had liked to think so – and yet thinking about it now brought all the pain and rage and sadness back and in a matter of seconds the goddamn tissue was completely soaked through. His hostess tactfully replaced it with a new one, reminding him of Alfred and right now that just hurt too, and it didn’t look as if his crying would stop anytime soon.

The big bad Red Hood, the great Lord Shiva, reduced to a weeping mess.

His reputation would never recover.

“One wouldn’t think so, given how many children your father adopted over the years,” the old woman mused softly. Because naturally she knew. Gotham and her creepy stalkers everywhere…

“One wouldn’t, but take a look at which ones of them he trusts and who he’s suspicious of at every turn and you notice that it’s ‘nature before nurture’, no matter what he says.”

Old frustration and resentment surged up again and finally helped to quell the tears for now. Or maybe Jason had simply cried himself out, his head certainly hurt enough for it by now. Still, he had to admit, the problem was –

“He’s not exactly wrong about me, isn’t he?”

It hurt to say it and it hurt even more to think it, but since dieing Jason had tried to be as honest with himself as possible. He’d failed more than once, especially when he’d still denied everything he could do, was and could be, but since Lady Shiva’s death even these lies had been thoroughly stripped away and while it left him raw and aching in all the ways he’d feared since he was a child, it was also oddly freeing somehow.

Just not right now.

“Cass will never forgive me.”

It was nothing but a breath of air, a whisper, but Jason felt as if it wasn’t for the fact that he was already all cried out at the moment he would be seriously giving it another go right now.

Hell on parental figures, right.

Hell on _everybody_ he even tentatively considered family was more like it. He was like a fucking bad luck charm, destroying everything he touched, turning it into something bad and tainted and ruining things for everybody else. He’d gotten Mo- _Catherine_ killed by forcing her to shoulder the burden of taking care of a kid that wasn’t hers, Sheila by turning up and disturbing her carefully crafted façade, he’d killed Shiva and crippled Cain and probably got Willis arrested somehow by forcing him into his life of crime to provide for what he thought was his family, and he’d ruined Bruce as a father for everybody else just by being himself…

And God alone knew what he’d done to the various Robins…

“She hates me.”

“Maybe,” his hostess allowed softly.

Jason laughed, sharp and nasty, “How could she _not_? I _murdered_ her mother, _our_ mother! You don’t just forgive something like that!”

Calm, dark eyes looked back at him.

“Was it murder? Or assisted suicide?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, then looked down at his tea again. The dark liquid was still faintly steaming and when he folded his hands around the bowl he could still feel the bite of heat on his skin.

“Does it matter? To them?”

He could feel his own heartbeat deep and painful in his chest.

“To me?”

“ _Jason!_ ”

He started at the use of his actual name. He’d been sure that she knew it, but he’d also been sure that she would never acknowledge it. He’d thought that to her he was Lord Shiva the Great and Terrible and nobody else.

The smile was gone when he looked up into her face, but she didn’t look angry, just intense and very serious about what she was about to say.

“Jason, it was _time_. Sandra Wu-San’s time had passed a long time ago and she knew it, accepted it, _welcomed_ it even.”

And there was a smile again, but a small, sad, wistful little thing.

“She was happy it was you. She was waiting and hoping for anybody to do it, but she was really happy and _proud_ that it was one of her children.”

Suddenly something impish alighted on her face, showing in the slight crinkling around her eyes and lips.

“And maybe, just maybe, she appreciated that it was the underdog, the one considered ‘less talented’ – even by herself – that inherited her title in the end. One last blow to the world. For Carolyn’s death.”

Not really something to feel proud over, but Jason would take what he could get. He’d long ago resigned himself to never expecting anything else anyway.

“It was time, _Lord Shiva_. The cycle needed to continue.”

Jason took a sip of tea to hide a grimace, feeling a bit calmer now but still gloomy and unsettled. And tired, so exhausted it almost hurt, and it wasn’t just a physical thing.

“So that’s my fate now? To hunt down other martial artists and kill them until one of them does me in?”

A deliberately casual shrug, “If that’s what you want it to be.”

Jason carefully, oh so carefully, put his bowl down before he gripped it too hard and cracked it, “What.”

His hostess suddenly seemed completely busy with tidying up the table but there was amusement in the bow of her head, the set of her shoulders, the faint curling of her lips – and Jason internally cursed himself when he noticed that he’d slipped into _seeing_.

“To be Shiva is to be creator and destroyer,” she began while methodically cleaning her equipment. “Your mother unfortunately forgot the first part of her duties, like so many incarnations of Shiva before her.”

She peered up at him from whatever she was doing and he could see a wicked glimmer in her eyes as she did.

“Though she created you, so I guess that makes up for it at least a little bit.”

Jason cleared his throat to hide the sudden surge of embarrassed warmth he was feeling and emptied his tea bowl with one last sip.

He didn’t want to feel appreciated and pacified and pleased, damn it, he wanted to feel angry and rage and break some shit. It sounded like he was just told how to behave again, _who_ to _be_ again, with no care for his own opinions, and just because somebody actually went as far as actually complimenting him while doing it, it didn’t make it any better.

But if there was one thing out there the big bad Red Hood had no real defense against, it were genuinely meant compliments, because he really didn’t get to hear a lot of those and never quite knew how to react when he actually did get one. Especially if somebody seemed glad purely because he _existed_ …

So he cleared his throat again after a damningly long time, pasted a grin on his face and stated in a cheerfully bad Dickie Grayson impression, “Well, golly gee, I guess that really makes me feel all better and shit.”

Then he sobered up again and grimaced, his fingers absentmindedly playing with his tea bowl a bit.

“There’s one problem though. What the hell am _I_ supposed to know about creation?”

For the first time in their admittedly short acquaintance his hostess looked at him as if he was utterly stupid. Jason wasn’t quite sure if he should be disheartened or reassured by how familiar that particular look felt.

Still he shrugged and soldiered bravely on, “I mean, I’ve destroyed a lot of stuff over the years. More than I ever wanted to even, so I’ve got that part down pat, but creating?”

He shrugged again and his nervous fingers let the tea bowl _dance_ over the table’s surface.

“Not really something I’ve got a lot of experience with.”

Deft hands snatched his bowl away before he something unfortunate happened to it and one peek at his hostess’ face assured Jason, that yeah, she was _pissed_.

“My dear boy,” and yeah, she was totally judging him and all his life decisions. This was going to hurt, he just knew it, “you may not have created anything directly. _Yet!_ But you’re still young so that may come in the future. But indirectly?”

Her gaze got decidedly steely and Jason would have cringed if he wasn’t slowly getting the feeling that her anger wasn’t actually directed at him. Always a novel feeling…

“How many people have you saved, either directly or by confronting their future tormentors before they could ever even meet them? How many people feel safe and at peace every day because of you, either knowingly or oblivious that you have protected them? How many people have a future just because you fought for it, for _them_? How many people _live_ and _create_ every day, just because you _destroyed_ those who would have _destroyed_ them?”

Jason felt his breath catch and he couldn’t tear his gaze away, those stern, dark eyes boring right through him, as if she had his gift and was reading his very soul deep within.

“To be Shiva is to be creator and destroyer. But that can mean many things and the two halves don’t have to be as separated from each other as it may seem at first glance. It’s up to you what you will ultimately make of it. Decide, and we will follow.”

She held his eyes with her own a while longer, then she looked away and just like that the spell was broken and Jason could actually breathe again. And yet…

He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. Trust, faith, approval – all these strange emotions actually directed at him. _Him_ , the eternal fuck-up. He wasn’t sure what to do with them. The last time anybody had ever really looked up to him had been when he’d been Robin and even then they all had looked up to the mask and Batman’s creed as represented by him and not… Jason.

Jason and what _he_ actually believed in.

“I…,” he wasn’t actually sure what he wanted to say, his mind still reeling, but his hostess – and, come to think of it, at some point he should really learn her name – just vaguely waved a hand in his direction and messily gathered her equipment together. He flinched at the slight clinking of the breakable and probably ancient ceramics and at all the tiny ways she clearly showed that she was still angry – but not at him and that stopped him from doing… something.

Apologizing maybe. Not that it seemed to count for something often with him.

“The food should be ready any minute now. Let’s eat, my lord, and then we both should be calmer again.”

Food.

Yeah, okay, that sounded good right now.

Food was simple, food was good. Food he didn’t have to think about.

He could do food.

Okay.

(What was his life even?)

+++

The food _was_ good, but then again Jason had been accused before – and admittedly rightly so – of eating just about anything, so he probably wasn’t the best person to ask for an opinion.

Well, _Alfred_ had always told him that he had good taste anyway, even if he could and would disregard it if he had to, but the more years Jason spent without meeting the old butler again, the less certain he was if the man had been telling him the truth or if he had just wanted to be kind to a child that didn’t excel in anything else… Or at least not in the things the other inhabitant of the manor wanted him to excel in.

Anyway, once the meal ended, part of Jason was about ready to just go to sleep there and then: He was warm, he was safe and he had a full belly, something he hadn’t had often in the last few months, especially not all three things at once.

But another part of Jason, the part Bruce and Talia loved to take credit for but that had actually been shaped on the streets long before he had met either of them, knew that it wasn’t this easy. There were things to know and things to discuss and with his kind of luck this might be his only chance to learn more about what being Lord Shiva would mean for him from now on.

This part stuffed his tiredness and exhaustion in a messy little box full of other shit he had no time or inclination to deal with and then sat up and forced itself to pay attention. Time to be smooth. Time to put his game face on. He could totally do it.

“So… What exactly did you mean when you said that I should ‘decide and you will follow’?” he asked as casually as he could the moment his hostess finally set her cutlery down.

The small smirk on her lips made it obvious that he wasn’t fooling anybody, but hey, it had been worth a try.

She made a show of taking a sip of water and folding her hands in front of her, then she smiled serenely up at him and he just _knew_ that he wouldn’t like what she was about to say next and he just _knew_ that she was well aware of that fact and privately amused by it.

“We are the Cult of Shiva. Naturally we will follow your example in every way.”

Great.

“Great,” he couldn’t help but rub his hands over his face in sudden dread and frustration. He’d had a feeling she’d meant it like that.

“Please tell me there isn’t a bunch of people out there right now, running around and killing criminals in my name,” a pause, then, “or for my glory and honor or whatever you prefer.”

“That’s just what I need right now,” he added under his breath, too quiet for her to hear.

And B would blame him for it, too, the ass, Jason just knew it.

“I assure you, my lord, that we would _never_ presume!” Oh, wow, that sounded almost… offended.

A quick peek though his fingers assured Jason that, yes, the old Todd-charm had worked its magic again: His hostess was _definitely_ offended. He groaned quietly, because that really hadn’t been what he’d been going for but apparently it couldn’t be helped. No conversations for him without him not insulting the other party at least once about something.

“Sorry,” he muttered and he meant it, because the old woman – the only member of the Cult of Shiva he knew right now – had been nothing but kind to him.

She pursed her lips, then took a deep breath, “No, I must apologize to you, Lord Shiva. You’re new to this and can’t be expected to know anything.”

Another deep breath and for the first time this night she took some time to actually collect her thoughts before speaking, “We are the Cult of Shiva, the creator and destroyer. We serve Shiva’s incarnations, chronicle their lives and follow the examples they set in every way.”

She hesitated for a moment, an expression of distaste flickering over her face. “We’re not the only followers of Shiva, though. There is a… _group_ of warmongering fools who live in a bunch of shacks somewhere in the middle of Asia.”

Jason sat up straighter when he noticed how his hostess’ hands balled into fists and began to tremble, the distaste returning to her face and staying there.

“They take pride in their wildness, in their _savagery_ , and take it as a justification to call themselves the only true followers of Shiva. They _pervert_ what Shiva should mean, they _spit_ on the balance – ”

She cut off and took another few deep breaths, her face white with rage and disgust. After a few seconds she had herself under control again and continued much calmer, “Their leader calls herself the grandmother of gods and they have taken to creating incarnations of Shiva in their own preferred image instead of waiting for them to earn their place and be revealed to the world like we do.”

She looked directly at him, her eyes imploring him to understand what she was saying.

 “We _serve_ Shiva. They try to make Shiva serve _them_!”

She paused, then, “Your mother was very much their creature. A perfect example of what they’ve forced upon the world for far too long.”

Suddenly the dark eyes became gentle again, looking at Jason with a fondness and awe that made him squirm, not sure he deserved it and if he could ever live up to her expectations of him.

“It’s good that you’re the one restarting the cycle. Far away from them and completely untainted by their influence. Someone they would have never expected. Maybe now Shiva’s incarnations can return to what they were always meant to be: A force of balance only bound by their own rules, morals and decisions.”

Yeah… right.

Okay.

Jason was going to take all of this with a grain of salt because as far as he was concerned both groups were clearly nuts and everybody who declared themselves the ‘one true thing’ – Batman very much included – was dangerous and should be under watch for the good of mankind anyway…

But so far it sounded as if he’d lucked out with being found by _this_ particular group of fanatics and that somebody should probably do something about the other bunch of them. He had a bad feeling this ‘somebody’ was going to be him. Shit. Something to think about on another day.

“And what has this to do with you – And I really appreciate that you’re not, just to make it clear. – not running around and killing criminals?” Jason hesitated for a moment, then added, “Like I do?”

“Because we aren’t you,” was the short and completely useless answer.

Fortunately she decided to elaborate, “We don’t share your gift to know what other people are thinking. What motivates them. To look into the deepest depths of their souls and see the evil within. So no, we _don’t_ kill, we don’t dare to. Not when we could be wrong.”

She looked at him, hands flat on the table’s surface, her body language calm but completely open, her face completely serious and… she was _offering_ herself up to his judgment, Jason suddenly realized. To _look_ at her and see for himself that she was telling him the truth.

And he just couldn’t risk her lying to him – not with this – , so he did _look_ and felt himself sag back into his seat when he didn’t _see_ anything but her steadfast assurance and utter devotion.

One bullet dodged. But so many more to go…

His hostess smiled brightly when she saw him relax and folded her hands again.

“So no, we don’t kill in your name. But we try to do other things that we believe will find your approval.”

She leaned forward slightly and Jason had to stop himself from mirroring her.

“All over the world the followers of Shiva have reached out to those in need. Street children, prostitutes, the homeless, the forgotten victims of every day… We shelter them and feed them and help them get back on their feet. Like you would do.”

She leaned even closer, saying with emphasis, “Like you would _want_ us to do.”

She sounded so earnest, so happy and eager to tell him, and this time Jason couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward as well.

“To honor your mission to protect whatever innocence still remains in this world.”

Jason found that he wanted to believe her. He found that he wanted to believe that some unknown number of people out there had just decided to… _help_ whoever needed it. Hell, even if the Cult of Shiva wasn’t nearly as numerous as his hostess tried to make it sound, even two or three people willing to do _something_ about all the shit out there would be honestly amazing…

But why do it for him? Just because of some title that could be easily taken from him again by the next best mugger getting lucky? But that didn’t explain why she seemed so _happy_ that Shiva was him. Why her devotion didn’t seem to be just for this new mantle he was now wearing but the person underneath it, him, Jason.

Suddenly he became aware that he was shaking.

“Just what are you seeing when you look at me?”

Dark eyes – so fond, so gentle – gazed warmly back at him.

“So many things… A child, a soldier, a _good man_ shouldering a heavy burden. Somebody strong enough to look evil in the eye and to do what others either can’t or refuse to do.”

Small but strong hands reached over the tabletop to grip his cold, trembling fingers with her own.

“Your sister thinks of your shared ability as a gift and maybe for her it is – but you have grown up experiencing it as nothing but a burden. Something to be feared and denied… Until now, isn’t it? Now you know that no matter if gift or burden, first and foremost it’s a responsibility and you’re well on your way to accepting this.”

Her calm gaze held his eyes and Jason felt as if he was drowning in it, incapable of breathing.

“It’s like looking into an abyss, isn’t it? And you know it could consume you like it did so many others… Like it did your mother and so many of her predecessors. And yet you force yourself to look back into it, no matter the pain and no matter the risks, whenever somebody needs you to do it. For those in need of your help. For those you want to protect.”

Warm fingers gently squeezed his own and refused to let go.

“You are a good man, Jason Todd. Maybe not the man your family wants you to be, but a far better one than they or anybody else gives you credit for.”

Another squeeze.

“You force yourself to face the worst humanity has to offer and to destroy it for the sake of everybody else. It’s been a long, long time since an incarnation of Shiva has been so noble at their core.”

One last squeeze, then she let go.

Jason’s fingers closed uselessly on themselves for a moment, as if they tried to hold onto her, then he caught himself, balled his hands to two fists and took a shaky breath, “Okay.”

He flexed his fingers, clenched them again, took another breath and tried to find something – anything else but her earnest, approving gaze – to lock on.

“Okay… this…”

He stopped himself and tried to collect his thoughts until they made sense again. His hands came up, rubbing at his head, his hair, at a phantom headache he might or might not be having.

Finally Jason let out an explosive breath and admitted, “I have no idea what to do with this.”

He didn’t look at her but he just knew the old woman was smiling again, gentle, fond, indulgent – _approving_ of him.

“I know.”

Ceramic was clinking because apparently it was time for tea again.

“You’re not used to being seen for who you are, to step out of so many shadows. Unfortunately, my lord, you will have to get used to it.”

Yeah, she didn’t regret that little fact one bit.

“And who knows, maybe with time and exposure, your family will come to understand and accept you and your new role as well?”

Jason snorted and rubbed his hands over his face for one last time.

“Yeah, somehow I really doubt that…”

His hostess pursed her lips at that.

“Nonsense! Just give them time. This isn’t easy for them either.”

He watched as she prepared the tea with swift, sure motions, foregoing any kind of ceremony this time.

 “They are all too used to denying the inborn darkness in their hearts. They try to lock it down deep inside and to throw away the key, and then they wonder why they lose control and threaten to drown whenever it rises up and consumes them.”

Jason opened his mouth to point out that he really wasn’t all that great at handling ‘his inner darkness’ either and that he had the duffle bag full of heads to prove it – but a sharp sound and an even sharper glare stopped him before he even got one word out.

“ _Stop_ letting the past cloud your judgment! Focus only on what you’re doing in the here and now. Or you’re not better than _them!_ ”

Jason bit back the ‘Yes, ma'am’ that threatened to spill from his lips and just nodded instead. It seemed to placate her and her gaze became gentle again.

“Because you are better, Jason. You have accepted your darkness as a part of you by now and instead of fearing it and trying to smother it in chains, you’ve learnt to wield it as a weapon to do what has to be done instead.”

She smiled at him, still full of this unexplainable faith and approval.

“Now the only thing left to do for you is to embrace the light that spreads as a result of your actions as well. Even death can bring about new creation, and maybe, one day, they will open their eyes and see this too.”

She finished her preparations and, with a little bow that made Jason feel distinctly uncomfortable, served him another bowl of tea, the tiny cracks in the ceramic surface clearly visible.

“So forgive them their imperfections and faults like they should do your own. Only time will tell if they can grow with their experiences or if they will fail to find a balance to live their lives by.”

Jason hesitated for another moment, then he nodded slowly and took the cup from her. His hostess smiled again, just as much in reward and approval as in pleasure at simply being in his vicinity, and raised her own bowl in a toast.

“And now, more tea.”

+++

Jason really hated hindsight.

He also hated the fact that everybody always complained about his paranoia, when time showed again and again that it wasn’t only warranted but that life usually kicked him where it hurt whenever he actually allowed himself to stop feeling paranoid about shit.

Yes, his recklessness and his temper occasionally got him into trouble, but it never was as bad or nearly as devastating as when he actually stopped hardening his heart and allowed himself to care instead. When he let his guard down and trusted whoever he just met. When he actually allowed himself to believe, despite all the evidence to the contrary – despite all the evidence he could _see_ whenever he made himself _look_ – that decent people actually existed in this world.

He fucking should know better! One would think he’d _learnt_ , at least after Sheila, but no, here he was, reaping once again the consequences of having a too soft heart and trusting it and himself to the wrong people.

More tea, indeed.

Because she’d given him tea before, and it had been okay, and she’d let him _look_ at her and she’d seemed sincere…

It didn’t change the fact that Jason hadn’t even been able to finish half of his cup before the world just… sort of pixeled away at the edges, like a screen losing a connection and going black, rapidly growing dark dots rushing from the corners of his eyes to the center and swallowing his consciousness in a tide of oblivion.

And now here he was, afraid to accept that he was only a pair of opened eyes away from having officially woken up.

He just couldn’t deal with yet another betrayal.

Not after all this shit.

And yet… shouldn’t he have expected it?

Jason gritted his teeth and willed the unwelcome warmth of tears welling up in his eyes back. He had no time for self-pity and feeling pathetic, it was time to face the music and figure out how to get out of this.

So he forced his eyes open and – stared at the dark wooden ceiling of temple, actually.

Jason blinked, trying to figure out if the fact that he hadn’t been moved – and wasn’t even tied down in some way, now that he thought about it – was actually good or just some new sort of mind-fuck. Everything was possible. This was Gotham after all.

“Ah, Master Jason. It’s good to see you’re awake.”

Jason shot up so fast he almost got whiplash, torn between elation because _‘Alfred!’_ and the utter horror of _‘Oh god, please no Bats!’._

But Alfred was alone, sitting next to him on the floor as if he’d never done anything else in his life, near a low table practically overflowing with breakfast. Nobody else was in sight, neither the old woman, nor Bruce, nor any of the other Bats, and Jason _looked_ for them, unwilling to be caught with his pants down and his guard wide open yet again.

But it really was only Alfred, old and dignified and calm on the outside…  
  
But only on the outside, because inside the entirety of him seemed cracked just the slightest bit, worn down by years of worry, helplessness and exhaustion. There was joy at seeing Jason again in the crinkles around his eyes but also sadness in the way they roamed over every inch of him. There was concern in the faint furrows of his brow and disapproval – not at him, not at Jason, and that lifted a weight of Jason’s shoulders he hadn’t even been aware of before – at the whole situation in the tightness around his mouth and _love_ , a deep well of _love_ , sorrow and regret, suffusing simply everything.

“I got… an invitation, may be the best word for it, or maybe a summoning – to come and meet you here. It was delivered by a lady with a red umbrella,” Alfred broke off, actually _embarrassed_ and Jason wouldn’t have even believed that to be even possible if he hadn’t just _seen_ it. “I admit that I don’t remember more about her, I didn’t pay as much attention as I should after she mentioned you by name, I’m afraid.”

“We’ve met,” murmured Jason, still staring and he just couldn’t stop. Because Alfred didn’t just say that he left everything behind at a mere hint of Jason’s whereabouts, that he’d forgotten all the training that should have been instinct after two different lifetimes of dealing in secrets, his whole body language showed that it was the truth, too.

Jason felt his eyes well up with tears again.

Alfred noticed – of course, Alfred noticed – and his own eyes got soft and sad as he continued, “She implied that you may welcome some company and possibly even some advice… From one old, wounded soldier to another, if I remember her words correctly.”

Jason cheeks were wet and his breath hitched, because that was right, wasn’t it? Alfred had been a soldier and a member of the Secret Service before some old obligation to the Waynes had pulled him into this whole sorry mess. If anybody in Jason’s weird, dysfunctional family had any chance of understanding him, it would be Alfred.

If only he could stop crying long enough to explain.

But it was Alfred, so he didn’t have to do anything. The old man simply leaned forward and pulled him into his arms, letting him hide his tears where nobody else could see them.

“Oh my poor, poor boy… What have you ever done to deserve this…?”


End file.
